Paranormal of a Different Sort
by PsychoDirector
Summary: Raz and Sasha have been sent in to an abandoned theatre to locate a psychic posing as a ghost. This quickly devolves to a paranormal scavenger hunt against a team of 'professional' ghost hunters, with the first to find a ghost the winner. Ready, set, go!


_**I found the intro to this old thing in the files on my old laptop that is very old the other day. I'm finding it hard to believe I scrapped this idea for so long. I love the plot (then again, i'm a sucker for all kinds of paranormal investigating), and it's possibly the closest I have or ever will come to an actual Psychonautsy fanfic, and not, say, some sort of mad crossbreed between Psychonauts and a slaughterhouse movie. Don't get me wrong; I love those, and my next fanfic will be a rather touching version of just that. The next will be about Santa. Yes, you heard me. A Christmas story in January (because there's no way I'll be able to finish it by today, the 31st). I'm not a ridiculously slow writer; I just like to catch my audience off-guard. Yeah, that's it.**_

**_So, half a year, a spiffy new haircut, and infinite cans of soda later, I bring you the edited and revised beginning of _Paranormal of a Different Sort_. Enjoy. And review or I'll eat your face off. Just a head's up._**

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_Lucky Stars Studios_. That was what the sign above the awning of the decrepit old theatre proclaimed, its yellow font still standing out slightly despite being worn with age. The dark grey sign upon which the words were written had long since had its LED lights give out, along with the tiny lightbulbs surrounding its rim. Clearly, the studio had been quite a sight back in its day… but wasn't anymore.

The streets it lay between were clean and freshly tarred, just like the rest of the tiny suburban town of Ausfer, Iowa. Only the run-down theatre stood out from the tidy neighborhood, like a dusty mole on the town's rhetorical face. It contrasted strongly with the bright, cloudy blue sky and spring trees all around it, with broken windows and walls worn down to their cement upholstery and metal skeleton in places. Yellowed posters curled away from the walls like dead flower stems. Plaster and filthy paint switched around again and again across the weathered walls, each sporting spiderweb cracks.

The abandoned theatre was useless, an unsightly blemish on the little suburb. Many people had protested for it to be taken down, but no one ever did. While the townsfolk continued to deny it and laugh at it, they all secretly kept the theatre there for one reason: they all, be it only slightly or openly, thought it was haunted.

And that was the reason the five people were gathered in front of it that day, fighting.

None of the five had much in common from looking at them. In fact, all of them seemed as different as different possibly could be. One could only wonder to themselves, as they walked casually on by to continue about their business of the day, what strange coincidence could bring such different people to one place at one time. Certainly they couldn't all be there for the allure of the haunted theatre, for that was just a silly old tale that was spread around by curious children and gossipy adults.

But they all were, and that was quite possibly the most normal part of it all. For if one were to take a deeper look at the group, like say, into their minds, they might just find these were no ordinary tourists. And that would probably explain why they were fighting in front of the theatre.

One was a thin, lean, German man, with a rather sickly tone to his skin that informed anyone who saw it that he clearly did not see enough of the sun. His hair was combed over neatly to one side, and was immaculately clean and black. Though it was rather warm that late summer day, he wore long, dark pants and a green sweater to match the one of one of the other four. Finally, his eyes were hidden behind square-framed glasses, giving him the appearance of a hardened professional; a man of science. This was further emphasized by the fact that he was smoking, and smoking makes you look cool as _hell._

The boy at his side, though tall for his age, was still just shy of the man's waist. He also wore a green, woolly shirt despite the warmth, coupled with a very dark purple, denim jacket and leather gloves. He wore dark parts to match his jacket, which were rolled at the ankles above plain black shoes. As if this was not a rather strange enough outfit, he finished it with two additions. The first was a single-strap backpack, colored tan and red. On the front flap of it, a set of eight colorful, diamond-shaped badges shone proudly in the sun. The second was a brown and red helmet, with stripes running down its length and a set of bright red goggles planted against his forehead. Behind it, only a tiny tuft of auburn hair was able to poke through.

The third was a skinny man, with lanky limbs and long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. His eyes were dark and beady behind a large pair of frameless, round glasses, but narrowed in anger. He wore a long-sleeved, striped, purple and grey shirt, which made his arms seem yet even longer. However, his legs did not share the same effect, as he wore only denim shorts that were severely frayed at the seams and finished by a pair of brown sandals. The man in the sweater remembered his youth during the seventies at this sight, and wondered what this hippy of a man was trying to prove.

The fourth was a rather portly man, with his expansive gut shoved under a red shirt with black trim. His black hair was cut gratefully short, unlike his partner's, and hidden beneath a tiny red ballcap. He wore black pants with silver trim around the pockets wrapped loosely around oddly stubby and thin legs, which ended in drooping red sneakers. The only thing even remotely interesting about his appearance was the small silver video camera he held in one had, watching the other three through its viewscreen. Also rather eye-catching was the pair of official-looking silver suitcases he had wrapped around one beefy hand and held loosely at his side.

The final person there was also the only female. She had short brown hair, which curled out at the ends just below her chin. Her ears had been cut through with tiny silver hoops, and her light brown eyes were bored and uninterested. She wore a light blue turtleneck with no sleeves, but she made up for this with slightly darker blue-colored arm warmers for no particular reason. Covering her legs were long, bright purple pants that bell-shaped out at the bottom, giving her more than a passing look as a gypsy.

"Look, man," the blonde-ponytailed man whined, in a voice grindingly stereotypical of a hippy. He shook his fist at the sweater-wearing man, who only raised his head a smudge to show he was, in fact, listening. Or at least pretending to. "This is a public facility, you got that? And we, the _public_, the very men and women who called you in, have this issue under control. We don't need some fancy government agents coming in and setting cameras all over the place." The sweatered man kept perfectly calm, an accomplishment the other three secretly admired.

"Sir, may I inform you that no one 'called us in', as you so precociously stated. We came of our own accord, to investigate the odd experiences reported within this studio. And we have absolutely no desire to spy over anything this society has to offer, most certainly not your latest tree-saving adventure." The boy with the goggles and the gypsy girl giggled slightly at this wit, and even the man with the camera had to stifle a chuckle. The hippy, however, was adamant.

"Don't think I don't know what your real issue is! I've known all about the stuff you CIA guys get up to! What about Roswell, huh? What _really_ happened there? You guys are just comin' in here to 'cover up'—" It should be noted that he gave air quotes at this, his face set in a firm, sarcastic scowl "—whatever paranormal phenomena you see goin' down. I'm gonna' tell you one thing, and that's that there really is a ghost here. And we're gonna' find it before you ever get a chance to hide it from us!" The sweatered man frowned deeper, his sunglasses glinting slightly in the midday sun.

"Need I remind you that we are not with the CIA? You can keep your personal vendetta against them; it does not bother me. However, you _are_ directly interfering with government affairs, as we have secured a previously allotted amount of time to infiltrate this building and investigate. This clearly states that, during this time, no civilians are allowed to enter or be within a ten-foot radius of the building. You should be grateful we're not planning to arrest you on the spot." The hippy grew angrier at this, only fully showing it instead of the German.

"You can't do this! This is public property!"

"If you have any questions, you can call your local government agency and ask for specifics." With this, the German turned his back on the three, then began walking to the studio's entrance (really just a hole in the wall, as the door had been torn off long ago). The kid with goggles jogged to keep up with him, grinning at his showing up of the other three and making no attempt to disguise it. However, one thing the girl yelled made them both stop.

"You guys are all the same, aren't you? It doesn't matter what it is. Ghosts, aliens, psychics, or anything else even slightly abnormal. You've all got to hide it, so only your 'trained' eyes can see. You never let anyone else even have a chance! We could even_ help _you!" she yelled, obviously upset. The German man was content to ignore her—and even took another casual step towards the studio—but the kid with the goggles hung back. His jade eyes locked onto her bluish-purple pair, his face unreadable. Finally, after two seconds of staring, he spoke.

"…Don't believe everything you see on TV. We just might surprise you," he nodded, then vanished into the building. For a moment there was only the sound of his heels clacking against the dusty ground in his rush to catch up with the German, and then there was silence.

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"Man, this is _so cool_!" Raz crowed as he paced beside his mentor, his voice kept down to a theatrical whisper. He looked around the inside of the theatre, taking in the dusty balconies and moth-eaten curtains with awe. The room was dark, lit only by golden beams of light that shone down from the holes in the rotted-out ceiling and twin pairs of flashlight beams that the two controlled. A huge chandelier hung dimly from the rafters, dim and dead, the catwalks loomed above, and balconies jutted from the walls, their gold decorations merely a hint at their previous majesty. Though it may have looked rotten and distasteful when put next to the sterilely clean houses of the neighborhood, once surrounded by it, the pair could see its romantic, haunted allure.

"Yes, well," Sasha agreed distractedly, peering behind the velvet curtain as he spoke, "I suppose it's as good a place as any for a mission." His eyes glanced downwards, taking in the only item he held besides his flashlight. It was a handheld EMG, pale yellow, and was currently registering at a normal rate of magnetic current. Sasha frowned, turned, then jerked his head up as the radar started skyrocketing. Just as soon, though, he panned his view down, and was not surprised to see Raz struggling to see the screen, too, his unnaturally high magnetic signature just catching the scanner. Sighing, Sasha handed down their sole tool, which Raz proceeded to spin around in rapid circles with until he was quite dizzy.

"This stupid thing's busted," he finally concluded, holding his head and blinking hard as he did.

"No…" Sasha replied patiently. He held out his hand and the 'busted' device floated into it, with Raz happy to give it back. That done, he took a quick sweep of it behind a row of seats—the radar barely moved—then turned back to Razputin. "The radar only has a five foot circular radius. Unless someone is standing within that much space of you, spinning around with it will only make you a bit sick. You need to move it in sweeps." He demonstrated with a scan of the air around him, moving his arm slowly in an extended arc. Raz watched closely, one finger against his mouth in thought.

"Kay…" he nodded, though his voice was obviously confused. "But, if it can only find stuff that's really, _really_ close by, then why do we need it?"

"Because the EMG also detects traces of psychic activity. A mysterious person appearing and disappearing, objects moving on their own, self-lighting fires; all of this points to an amateur psychic. All we have to do is find him and bring him in."

"Uh-huh." Raz gazed up at one of the balconies, training his flashlight beam on it and hunting for a humanoid shape among the deep shadows. "So, do we have an ID?"

"Negative. No one who's seen him recognizes him, and we can't find any DNA samples to cross-reference. He's a UPE." As they spoke, Sasha and Raz left the theatre and entered the foyer, scanning and searching as they walked. The EMG bleeped sporadically as it traced the magnetic signatures in the air; Sasha followed it, and Raz followed him.

"An unregistered paranormal entity…" Raz breathed, as if the very idea were simply _magical_.

"Precisely. Once we have him in our custody—"

"—Then everything goes back to normal! No more ghost rumors, no more crazy hippies, no more paranoid town—"

"No more theatre." Raz paused, his conclusive smile dropping. His eyes panned over the strange yet beautiful place, taking in the faded carpet and grey counters, the gold-rimmed posters of movies that would never show, and even an old time popcorn popper shoved against one corner.

"Yeah," he agreed, his voice dejected. Suddenly this mission didn't seem so fun.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Sasha mused. He peered over a counter, pointing flashlight and scanner alike between it and the wall. "The one thing that brings this place life is the idea of death."

"Yeah, but—" Raz never got to finish his sentence as, just then, there came a sound from the balconies in the showroom like a heavy _thump_. Clearly something had fallen over, and the two instantly about-faced towards the door they had just left.

"What was _that_?" Raz asked.

"No idea. Let's find out." Sasha then began to run back into the room, and Raz had no choice but to follow. It seemed they had found their ghost.

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Meanwhile, high above the pair of Psychonauts, a certain group we should all recognize had simultaneously frozen, eyes wide and gaping at the poster that had lodged loose and fallen. All was dark, save for a light beam emanating from the camera ("night vision", the ad had proclaimed), a flashlight held by the only female, and a lantern held by their tree-hugging leader. From these small glows, it was just possible to see their leader's face change from shocked and afraid to annoyed.

"Damn it, Dex!" he exclaimed in a rough whisper, looking accusingly at the camera holder. "I'm beginning to think you're the only poltergeist in here!"

"I'm _sorry_," Dex whined, eyes only on the complicated buttons controlling his camera. "I can't see in this freaking place, and the brightness setting on my equipment only goes up so high. Knew I should've gotten the Nitelite model…" He continued fiddling with it, and the hippie scowled.

"Just watch where you're stepping, or brightness will be the least of your equipment's malfunctions. And no, I'm_ not_ talking about a camera." Dex stopped messing with the camera's settings, deciding to focus a bit more on foot placement.

"Guys, calm down," the last member interjected. "We're a team, remember? We need to work together, not pick on each other."

"Ha—" Dex began, but the third member cut him off to add a note.

"_And_ we're _supposed_ to be hunting in _secret_. We have to make as little noise as possible. Got it?" Dex just frowned and nodded. "Got it, Parker?" The hippie was silent. He wasn't even looking at the two, either; instead, his eyes were focused on the stage below their little hideaway. "…Parker?" Silence.

Dex and the as-of-yet-unnamed-girl walked up to the rim, planting their hands on the banister to either side of Parker. From this close, they could hear a low growl oozing from between their leader's teeth, which were tightly clenched. Confused, the two looked down towards the ground floor, struggling to find something that could send Parker into such a condition. The girl spotted it first.

"Hey," she cried, remembering to whisper only at the last minute, "that's—"

"—That self-centered there's-no-such-thing-as-ghosts government cut-out and his portable audience," Parker finished, somehow managing to shove out every word with as little mouth movement as possible. A pause.

"…I was gonna' say 'those guys we met earlier', but that works, too," the girl dodged.

"Weird," Dex mused, still watching the two. He could just barely make out them training flashlight beams—_much stronger ones than my junk camera has_, he thought with envy—onto the balconies across the room. "You'd think the government would be too busy stopping wars and solving conspiracies to hunt ghosts in middle town Ausfer, Iowa. Don't they normally send TAPS for this?"

"I think TAPS only takes cases in Pennsylvania," the girl mused. Dex shook his head.

"No, they investigate all over. Last Wednesday I saw a special that took place in England."

"Oh. Well, I'm sure they're pretty busy. And they're not the only ghost hunters in the world. Maybe these guys were the second best choice?"

"Maybe—" It was then that Parker cut them off.

"Dex! Scout! Focus!" He pushed off from the banister and took to pacing, his mind lost in thought. "Now, it's clear this man ain't gonna' quit until he can make everyone in Ausfer believe there's no ghost in here. And, knowing these 'top secret mum's-the-word' types, he'll kick us out the moment he sees us getting footage or measuring magnetic waves. Though there'll probably be more arresting than kicking, as it's kind of hard to kick when you've got a stick the size of a Goodyear blimp shoved up your ass." No one laughed, though Scout did look mildly disgusted.

"Aw… look, can't we just go home? I want some ghost footage as much as the next guy, but not if I'm gonna get arrested for it…" Dex moaned. He swept the camera across the room, as if the ghost had projected itself right next to them. Of course it didn't, but he did spot something that made him freeze in horror.

"…Dex?" Scout asked, confused. "What's up? Dex?" He didn't answer; only putting up one shaking, pointing finger.

"L-look…" he stuttered. The two did, and they gasped.

On the wall splattered loosely against the wallpaper, were the words 'keep out'.

And they were written in blood.

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**_Whee, cheesy cliffhanger is cheesy. 8D Well, cliched or no, that gives us a good point to stop for a while, so I can go play video games and you can send me reviews about how amazing I am. Or just flame this and say that I need to go back to pre-K and learn how to write. Hey, a review's a review._**

**_TO BE CONTINUED..._**


End file.
